Chapter 2

Hector didn't come home until three in the morning.

When I heard him opening the door, I was sitting on the couch, looking at the dinner on the table that had long since gone stiff.

He came in, smelling strongly of alcohol and another woman's perfume, sweet and heavy, exactly like the one Sierra wore.

He loosened his tie and frowned slightly when he saw me, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Why are you still up? Didn't Cody tell you I'd be late?"

I looked up, my eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night, but my voice was eerily calm. "I went to Golden Summit."

His hands paused on his tie, and his expression darkened instantly. His gaze turned sharp. "Why did you go to a place like that? It's not a place for you."

Not a place for me? I looked at him, the words so absurd that they almost made me laugh.

I was his legally wedded wife, yet the place where he spent his evenings wasn't a place for me.

Then what did that make Sierra, the woman sitting comfortably in his arms while he showered her with gifts?

His words tore through me, but all I did was force a crooked smile, one that probably looked worse than if I'd cried.

"I saw Sierra. She really does look like her," I said, not naming names, but I knew he got it.

I stared straight into his eyes, not letting a single flicker of emotion escape me. Gathering every ounce of strength I had, I asked slowly, "She looks like Jocelyn, doesn't she?"

For a second, the whole room felt frozen.

Hector's severe expression darkened further. He stared at me, the mask completely gone now, leaving only raw anger and unmistakable disgust.

He stepped closer, his tall figure looming over me. He said sharply, "Lyra, you don't get to mention her name."

His words burned through me, leaving a sting of humiliation that wouldn't go away.

In that moment, every illusion and every lie I had told myself shattered completely.

Of course. How could I compare? I was only a cheap imitation, while Jocelyn was the woman he had always held above everyone else.

What right did an imitation have to speak of the original?

The last bit of hope inside me faded, leaving nothing but emptiness.

I looked at the man I had loved for ten years and, for the first time, he felt like a stranger. Worse than that, he made me feel sick.

My silence seemed to irritate him even more. He turned and walked toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaving me alone in the living room.

*****

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bright enough to sting my eyes.

When Hector came out of the guest room, I had already pulled myself together.

I placed a signed divorce agreement and the key to the villa quietly on the dining table.

He was fastening his cufflinks when he saw the papers. His hand froze, and he looked up at me, his eyes carrying that familiar scorn. "Lyra, what are you sulking about now?"

I didn't answer. I looked at him, calm as ever.

I said softly, but with a resolve he had never heard before, "Hector, I'm done being the replacement for Jocelyn."

After saying that, I grabbed a small suitcase I had packed long ago and turned toward the door.

Inside were only a few pieces of my clothing and the lace art tools I depended on. I came here with nothing but myself, and I was leaving as clean and free.

Hector didn't see it coming. He ran up and grabbed my wrist, his grip almost strong enough to hurt me.

"Are you threatening me? Can you survive after leaving me?" His words were laced with mockery.

I didn't fight him. I carefully freed my fingers from his grip, looked up into his angry eyes, and smiled. My smile held no love, no anger, only a hollow emptiness.

"Whether I survive or not is no longer your concern." I shook off his hand and walked out of the fancy house that had trapped me for three years, never looking back.

The moment the door closed behind me, the tears I'd been holding back all night finally overflowed.

Goodbye, Hector.

Goodbye to my ten years of stupid devotion.

I pressed my hand to my flat belly and walked quietly in the sunlight, as if I had never been here.

*****

I went back to my hometown, a small town in Rillford.

The streets were narrow, flanked by old buildings and plain houses. Streams ran under worn bridges, and the mix of fresh earth and plant scents helped calm my nerves.

I went to see my lace art teacher, an elderly lady in her seventies.

When she saw me, she didn't say a word. She sighed and handed me a warm cup of coffee. "Whenever you're tired, come back here. This is always your home."

I held the cup in my hands, trembling slightly, as tears fell into the coffee, sending delicate ripples across the surface.

I kept my pregnancy well hidden, wearing loose, comfortable clothes. Every stitch I made was infused with all my sorrow, anger, and frustration.